


Peanuts, Crackerjacks, and Unicorns

by windscryer



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Community: Suitsmeme, Gen, Prompt Fic, Softball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windscryer/pseuds/windscryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey keeps disappearing from work and Mike is determined to find out why. When he does, however, it's the very last thing he expected to find.</p><p>Spoilers for 01.12 Dog Fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission: Impossible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smartalli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartalli/gifts).



> Disclaimer: THIS WOULD SO BE CANON IF I WAS IN CHARGE. *weeps for lost opportunities*
> 
> Credit to GallowsHumor for the beta and the flailing. Anything that is still wrong is totally my fault because I can't help but tweak before posting. And to Lu for genre picking, which is the second bane of my existence after last lines.
> 
> Written for a prompt by smartalli on suits_meme on LJ (which I will put at the end of the story to keep from spoiling all y'all).

“Hey, Donna, is Harvey in?”

“Nope,” she replied without even pausing in her work.

“Oh,” Mike said, stalled for a moment because he had actually intended it as more of a warning that he was going in than an honest question. But perhaps Donna _knew_ that and didn't want him to become presumptuous when it came to his access to the Great and Powerful Oz, known here in his homeland of Manhattan as Harvey Specter. The only problem with this theory was that a glance at Harvey's office showed that his desk had been cleared, his laptop was gone, and—most telling—his record player had been covered.

All of which usually meant that Harvey was not only out of the office, but he wasn't planning on returning today.

Mike frowned and checked his watch, wondering if it was later than he thought, but the display there agreed with the angle of sunlight through the windows and said it was only four o'clock. It also confirmed that it was in fact Thursday, not Friday when Harvey was known to knock off this early on occasion.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” Donna said.

“Where—”

“Okay then, thanks for stopping by!” She gave him a bright grin, then went back to her work, reverting to completely ignoring his presence.

Mike's mouth worked a few more times, his brow furrowing, but he realized that it was pointless to even try to get information out of Donna right now and returned to his desk. He'd just have to make his best guess on the contract and hope that it was the right one.

Or draw up two copies with the alternative wording so that whichever one Harvey wanted would already be printed up and ready to go.

Resigning himself to an extra hour of work before he got to leave tonight, Mike sighed and settled back into his chair.

o.o

On Monday, Mike didn't even get close enough to ask, seeing Harvey's office in that same state of end-of-day tidiness. He stopped in the middle of the hall, frowned, and stared until Donna said, “Think at your desk, Rookie. You're blocking traffic and I don't want to have to call custodial services to clean up a blood stain if you pop something.”

Mike blinked and looked at her. She was arching an eyebrow and when she had his attention she jerked her head in a “move along” gesture.

Mike turned on his heel and retreated, checking his watch after he was out of sight.

Last Thursday might have been a fluke. Harvey was a Senior Partner, after all, and if he could come it at nine or later without repercussions, surely he could leave before five every once in a while.

Even two times wasn't exactly conclusive evidence, however close together they might be. If it happened again, though...

Obviously, further observation was required.

o.o

Mike kept his head down as Harvey walked past his desk, but his eyes rose to follow the progress of his boss. He twitched his hand and scooted the pointer on his computer screen down to the menu bar, verifying it was, indeed, three-thirty on a Wednesday.

It was the sixth consecutive early departure in the last three weeks and if that wasn't reason enough to wonder, the regular pattern to it was. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Harvey left the office at three-thirty and did not return until the next morning. No one seemed to know where he was going—except for maybe Jessica who had said something last week that indicated to Mike it was likely she was at least aware of what was going on. Sadly, she hadn't said anything that would clue Mike into what the secret was, but he hardly expected that kind of sloppiness from her.

Louis was completely in the dark, though, because when Mike had tried fishing for information, he'd gotten nothing but the standard annoyance that Harvey was a Senior Partner and one who abused the perks of said promotion. That Louis was mostly upset because he couldn't do the same rang pretty clear. An extra three hours' worth of work also convinced Mike that he should not bring it—or anything like it—up in Louis' hearing again.

Mike wasn't on good enough terms or in close enough proximity to surreptitiously poll any of the other partners, senior or junior, but he was witness to more than one of them being politely informed by Donna that Harvey was unavailable, and that she could pass on a message when he returned. Apparently Harvey's colleagues didn't know him well enough to recognize the meaning of the state of his office.

All of which made Mike even more curious as to where Harvey was disappearing to, thus his plan which he was now prepared to execute.

He made his motions as normal as possible, giving no hint that he was actually shuffling the files in preparation to put them away, but was stopped before he could slip them into his desk by Donna's hand appearing suddenly in his line of sight. “Are those done? Good. They're twenty minutes late, Rookie.” She wiggled her fingers in a non-verbal “give them here” order.

Mike looked up and said, “I... what? No. I'm just... Um.” He tapped the stack of papers again, then laid them flat.

She arched an eyebrow.

“I'm almost done, I swear,” he assured her. “I just have to check one last thing in the bylaws and then—“

“Ten minutes or you won't be going to the Sandusky meeting tomorrow,” she said and left.

Mike watched her go, frowning at her back.

It was only after he'd turned forward again and looked up at the exit that he realized that she'd distracted him. Since it was Donna, he couldn't tell if that was intentional or not.

But either way it was effective. Now the only way he'd catch Harvey was to race down the stairs at a breakneck pace, and even then it was almost certain he'd miss the older man's departure.

Dammit.

Well, at least now that he was sure of the schedule he could plan ahead. He just needed to make an excuse and leave before Harvey tomorrow.

Yeah, this plan could still work.

o.o

Mike spent a miserable half hour Thursday afternoon standing under the awning of a store across the street. He would have been closer, but the cold and the rain had driven most people inside and it would have been too conspicuous.

The worst part was that Harvey didn't even show—though he did text Mike at four and ask where the hell he was and, more importantly, where the hell was the patent confirmation for Sandusky?

With a sigh Mike texted back that he had it in his hands and that he'd be there in five minutes, then he braced himself and ducked out into the rain, hurrying across the street.

o.o

Mike was still on probation for his unauthorized field trip on Thursday when Monday rolled around—and Gregory was _so_ going to pay for ratting him out—and couldn't attempt a second stakeout for all the extra work Harvey had piled on him as punishment.

He could, though, try something else.

But first he checked in with Rachel because she scared him less than Donna and there was no reason to risk the wrath of the latter if the former could give him the information.

Unfortunately, she couldn't.

“Mike, you work for him directly. If you don't know where he is, why would I?”

Mike opened his mouth, but had to close it when no reasonable answer immediately burst forth. His brow drew down and she looked up.

“Why don't you ask Donna?”

“Because she's busy and—”

“And you value the presence and utility of all your limbs and senses? Well that puts you ahead of most of the other associates in terms of intelligence and self preservation instincts.”

She laughed at the look on his face and then looked back down at the hefty tome opened in front of her. “Look, I'm sure that if you needed to know where he was going, he'd tell you. Since he hasn't, you should probably just go back to work and stop prying into what is obviously his personal business.”

Mike snorted. “I'm not _prying_ —”

She regarded him with a look and he gave up.

“Fine. Whatever. Excuse me for wanting to actually get my boss' input on the work I do for him. You're right. I'll just go muddle through on my own.”

Rachel rolled her eyes as Mike left, but it was with amusement.

At least one of them thought this was funny.

o.o

What Mike did next he would forever blame on Donna's own influence and, therefore, maintain that she totally deserved it.

He would also never attempt it again because even though it was—somewhat—successful, holy _shit_ was it a desperate, stupid act that, in any rational being, would have served as a wake up call to just how far into insanity this desire to know Harvey's secret was taking him.

He still couldn't entirely believe it had worked, and the residual adrenaline high of risking death—or worse—was enough to have him skipping his usual Red Bull doses for the remainder of the day lest his heart spontaneously explode from overexertion.

He also expected the other physical side effects—including but not limited to dry mouth, nausea, dizziness, insomnia, sweating, abdominal pain, vomiting, tremors, anxiety, heartburn, muscle spasms, abnormal dreams, and an asshole clenched so tightly not even Ex Lax could help him—to subside within the week. Maybe two.

But it was worth it because he knew now, from his peek at Donna's computer, that whatever Harvey was doing was not work related. Or at least, not written on his schedule. There were only empty holes from three-thirty to five-thirty on the three days in question and then three hour blocks open on his Saturday mornings between varying times that spanned eight am and two pm for the next two and a half months.

Okay, so not entirely successful, as previously mentioned, but still it was progress. He was now sure that 1. he wasn't just imagining things, and 2. it wasn't for Pearson Hardman.

That eliminated a lot of possibilities.

It also left a lot open, but Mike was feeling pretty badass right now for his daring maneuver this afternoon and that translated into optimism in regards to his investigation's progress.

He happily settled into work for the rest of the day, feeling like he'd accomplished a great deal and willing to let that be enough.

For now.

o.o

His brilliant—if he did say so himself—spotting of a dangerous loophole in a contract on Tuesday was enough to have Harvey rescind his probation and Mike accepted the unspoken thanks with a nod—then returned to his desk to plot his next move.

Wednesday they had a meeting scheduled that Harvey wouldn't be able to miss, so Mike knew that Thursday was his next chance and since there was nothing at all in this building that could help him out, he had gone back to his idea of tailing Harvey.

He just needed to plan more carefully, that was all, but he had manged to lure Donna from her desk and get on to her computer so, yeah, he was pretty sure he could handle this.

His confidence was both bolstered and shaken when Wednesday afternoon came and Harvey informed Mike that he'd be handling the meeting with the client alone, that Harvey was pretty sure he could handle this without screwing up too badly, and that he expected a full report afterward on his desk.

It had to be serious—very serious—for Harvey to miss a meeting like this and, no, Mike didn't think Harvey actually trusted him that much. Clearly he had to choose between the lesser of two evils and, in this case, that happened to be letting Mike potentially screw up both of their careers.

Not for the first time, Mike _worried_ about what exactly Harvey was hiding.

o.o

This had to end today. Really, it did.

Because it was starting to affect his work and Harvey was bound to notice soon and Mike really didn't look forward to explaining how he'd been, well, _stalking_ his boss for the last month. He didn't need another lecture on trust or loyalty or that disappointed look in Harvey's eyes, he really didn't.

He just needed to see for himself that Harvey wasn't... Shit, the possibilities that had been running through his brain for the last twenty-four hours alone had been enough to keep Mike from sleeping.

Of course it could be something completely innocuous like— Actually, Mike couldn't think of any innocuous reasons. Mostly he was thinking of meetings with shady figures who may or may not have Mob affiliations, or a serious health issue that required regular treatments and examinations, or other equally bad things.

Donna wasn't showing anything that concerned him and that made Mike feel marginally better—more so than Harvey not showing signs of stress—because even _Mike_ had been able to see the effects on her during and after the whole Cameron Dennis/Clifford Danner fiasco and she was better than Harvey at hiding how she felt.

But that didn't mean there wasn't something bad going on, just that Donna was still optimistic and/or determined to not let it win.

Because of these ever more dire thoughts, Mike's work that Thursday morning was significantly less productive than it could have been. How he didn't get caught or called out on it, he'd never know.

Well, Harvey _had_ actually called him on it at lunch, but Mike just said that dinner last night had been a bad choice and Harvey had warned him not to puke on anyone important and left it at that.

News of his possible food poisoning must have reached Donna's desk—like there was any chance it wouldn't—by three, because when she saw him putting some files in his bag at three-fifteen she just told him to try drinking some apple cider vinegar and hot lemon water—separately, not together, _Mike_ , and don't knock it until you've tried it—and feel better tomorrow.

Mike felt a little stupid for not even realizing he could use this fake illness to his advantage, a sign of just how off this whole thing was making him, and made the appropriate noises about taking her advice and apologizing and vowing not to eat from there again.

Louis sidelined him before he could escape and it took Mike gagging a few times before Louis was alarmed enough to go find another of his “ponies” to do the work he had. Because of this delay, Harvey actually ended up in the same elevator as he did and Mike thought for sure he was sunk.

But Harvey just gave him a quick once over, said, “Donna told me you were going home. Save your culinary adventures for the weekend next time, will you?” and went back to his phone.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief under the guise of suppressing his gag reflex and said nothing but a short agreement.

He could still make this work, he thought. He just had to go to his bike, fiddle with the lock until Harvey was in the car, then hurry and catch a cab to follow him. This time of day that shouldn't be too hard.

Except Mike's detour to the bike rack was interrupted by Harvey's, “Oh no. I'm not letting you ride home on that thing and end up passing out halfway there. You'll get yourself killed and I'll have to find a new associate. Nuh uh.” A hand on his arm overrode Mike's spluttered protests and all too soon Mike found himself seated in the back of Ray's luxury sedan.

“Afternoon, Mr. Ross,” Ray said as Harvey climbed in on the other side. “Sorry to hear you're not feeling well.”

“Thanks,” Mike mumbled and slumped into the corner.

He really wasn't sure he could wait until Monday to have this mystery solved so he had the drive home to figure out a plan.

o.o

For a few brief minutes on the drive he'd thought that maybe he wouldn't need a plan at all. If Ray was taking Harvey to his appointment, then it would be a simple matter of keeping his eyes open.

Of course, things _couldn't_ be that simple, and when Mike realized they were going to his place first, he felt like an idiot for even considering the possibility. As careful as Harvey had been so far, he wasn't about to make a stupid mistake like taking Mike to the very place he was being so careful about hiding from everyone at work.

Mike climbed out of the car with a repressed sigh and thanked Ray for the ride.

“Get some sleep, kid,” Harvey ordered, critical eye measuring him up. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Mike said. “But you should tone down the caring or someone might suspect you're not as heartless as you profess to be.”

Harvey smirked and said, “Goodbye, Mike,” and reached over to pull the door shut.

Mike turned and trudged toward the door of his building, waiting until the sedan was a solid half block away before turning around and running back, arm in the air and fingers of his other hand between his lips for a short, sharp whistle. “Taxi!”

o.o

It was a close thing and Mike cursed all the movies of his youth that had lied to him about how easy it was to tail someone in a cab.

And how cheap. Mike was going to be eating ramen for a week or two to be able to cover the cost of not only taking a cab halfway across town and back, but sitting outside of Harvey's apartment for fifteen minutes while the man went up, changed into jeans and a white silk windbreaker—wardrobe items Mike would have attested to under oath that Harvey didn't own—and returned with two _huge_ duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

“What the hell...?” Mike muttered as he watched Harvey flag down another cab and load his bags into the trunk.

“Are we following this one too?” his cabbie asked.

Mike glanced at him for only a second, hunched down to just be able to peer over the back of the seat as he was, and said, “Yeah. Same as before.”

“Okay,” the man said, the 'it's your very generous tip' heavily implied.

Mike swallowed his snort and kept his eyes glued to the back of Harvey's cab.


	2. Field of Dreams

Their exceptionally slow chase across town ended in the last place in the world Mike expected: A very well used circle of ball fields in the South Bronx.

Harvey climbed out of his cab, followed the driver to the trunk, and retrieved his bags. He passed the man some cash and shook his hand, then turned and started down the path that bisected the two halves of the park.

“So your boyfriend's not cheating on you. Congrats. Are we waiting here or what?”

“Huh?” Mike turned to look at the rearview mirror where he could see the raised eyebrows of his driver. “He's not my— You know what, never mind.” He dug out his wallet, forked over enough cash that he had to bite back a whimper before letting go, and climbed out of the car.

It was only then that he realized how much of an idiot he was.

Not for thinking Harvey had been in serious trouble, though, in retrospect, a man who gives advice like, “Grab the gun,” when faced with the prospect of being held hostage probably isn't going to be easily intimidated by the Mob, and even Donna would never have been so cool in the face of something like a medical problem she can't intimidate into submission.

But that really isn't why he felt stupid.

He should have stayed in the damn cab and gone home now that he knew Harvey was okay. Instead he was standing in the middle of the street in the Bronx watching his boss get ready to... watch a Little League game?

And that intrigued him enough that he wasn't really surprised when his feet carried him forward, across the street, down the path, and past the first two fields. The third was under construction if the backhoe and piles of poles, stacks of some kind of plastic benches, and rolls of chainlink were any indication.

The fourth was Harvey's destination, the construction already completed, and because of that Mike couldn't see into the concrete-backed dugout where Harvey disappeared.

There were bleachers on either side, the light blue and green of the plastic seats filled with only a handful of parents and mostly siblings both younger and older than any of the kids Mike had seen on the fields.

The team had to all be in the dugout and Mike, mostly out of morbid curiosity and an apparently on-again-off-again sense of self preservation, climbed up into the bleachers that were next to the opposing dugout and tucked himself in close enough that he wouldn't be readily visible from Harvey's vantage point.

He got a few looks from some of the people already seated, mostly the adults who were no doubt wondering what the hell a white man in a fancy suit was doing in their neighborhood, let alone at one of their kids' ball fields. He did his best to ignore them and tried to see where Harvey was.

At the moment all that could be seen was a huddle of girls whom Mike judged to be roughly eight-years-old. All of them wore ratty jeans and tennis shoes in various states of cleanliness and repair. The only consistencies were the gloves they all wore on one hand, the pink t-shirts with large player numbers on the back and some kind of logo with a unicorn on the front in white, and the bright pink baseball caps with a variety of what were hopefully nicknames embroidered in silvery thread over the hole created by the adjustment strap that more than half the team was using as a ponytail holder.

They were listening intently to whatever was being said and then with a raucous cheer and a forest of fists thrust into the air, they turned and scattered, half taking to the field and half settling in on the bench.

One girl was still standing next to the newly revealed Harvey who was on his knees in the dirt and, Mike could now see, also wearing one of the pink shirts under his windbreaker which, from the also pink emblem on the left breast was probably uniform related too, nodding to what the girl was saying. She mimed a batting swing and Harvey reached up and took gentle hold of her arms, making an adjustment and then saying something to her. The girl nodded, smiled, and headed out, picking a bat out of the stand just outside the door to the dugout.

Harvey smiled and stood, then almost immediately bent down again to listen to one of the shortest players. He nodded and patted her shoulder and she skipped back to her spot at the end of the bench.

And then Mike watched a half hour of what he strongly suspected might be an actual hallucination.

Harvey ran herd on nearly twenty little girls, coaching both the fielding and batting teams simultaneously as they played a scrimmage game. Instead of switching at three outs, though, Harvey played them until every one of the batters had had a chance. They were only eight-year-old girls, so there wasn't a lot of really good game play, but Harvey didn't come down hard on anyone who flubbed a catch or struck out—in fact, after three strikes he did a quick conference with the batter, then took the mound for some easy pitches until they got at least a fair ball.

Encouragement came in an almost constant stream, from the benches around Mike as well as Harvey.

It was incredible and surreal and who the hell was this man who had replaced his asshole of a boss with a caring, kind coach of Little League girls' softball?

The inning ended and the girls all came in at Harvey's call, getting drinks and running off to the bathroom for breaks. Mike was staring out at the infield so intently as he tried to wrap his mind around this strange phenomenon he'd witnessed that he didn't even realize Harvey was approaching until he heard one of the parents speak.

“Mr. Specter, I just want to thank you for letting Brandy play second base in the last game. She hasn't stopped talking about it. 'Mom! Coach Harvey let me play second base and I tagged Alysha Torres _out!_ Oh you should have seen her face, Mom!'”

Harvey laughed and squeezed the woman's hand and leaned in and said, “Don't tell her, but I'm thinking of putting her on first base on Saturday. She's been working on her throwing and it really shows.”

“Oh she would love you forever,” Brandy's mom agreed with a laugh. “Thank you again.”

“Sure,” Harvey said warmly. “If you'll excuse me?”

“Oh of course,” she said and let him go, turning to talk to another parent on the bench below her.

Harvey's eyes locked on Mike then and, though he was smiling, Mike wasn't fooled. He'd seen that particular smile too often to believe the lies it told.

“Mike.”

One little word and Mike was on his feet and making his way down to the ground, Harvey leading the way as soon as he saw Mike obeying.

Harvey stepped inside the empty dugout next to them and said, eyes on the field where several of the girls had taken gloves and balls to practice throwing back and forth to each other, “Rookie, if you have ever harbored a dream of being a secret agent, you should know that your surveillance skills suck.” He glanced Mike's way with an arched eyebrow and said, “Though your acting skills are getting better. Donna wasn't entirely sure you were faking. Oh, and she said to tell you that if she ever finds out you touched her computer again, they'll find Jimmy Hoffa before they find you.”

Mike felt a wave of horrified relief wash over him at the realization that Donna _had_ known but had chosen to spare his life anyway.

Harvey smirked and said, “You really thought she didn't know?” He snorted. “And you're supposed to be one of the smart ones in that bullpen.”

Mike had finally regained the ability to speak and he started out with the obvious, “Harvey, I'm sorry. I know it's none of my business and I probably should have just asked you what was going on but—”

Harvey held up a hand and stopped him. “But I wouldn't have told you anyway. Relax. If I was mad at you I would have already sent you home with your tail tucked between your legs.”

Mike nodded, feeling a measure of relief and annoyance both at the honest admission.

Harvey subjected him to a narrow-eyed stare for a few very long seconds, then said, “Why are you here?”

Mike felt like this was a trap, but didn't know how else to answer other than honestly. Even he wasn't stupid enough to lie right now to Harvey's face. “Because I followed you?”

Harvey waved a hand. “No, that's why you _came_ here. Why are you _still_ here? Why not leave as soon as you knew what was going on?”

Mike opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

Harvey nodded, like he totally expected that. “Come on, break's over.” He headed out and back toward the occupied dugout, only making it halfway before he was swamped by girls asking him questions and demanding, “Did you see me, Coach Harvey?!”

He answered them and told them he had and complimented them and offered a few minor corrections, all of which the girls soaked up like parched soil under a monsoon.

Mike trailed behind until one little girl stopped him with a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and she said, “Who are you?”

Mike couldn't help the smile as he bent down to say, “My name is Mike.” He held out a hand and she only looked at it for a second before shaking it with almost painful enthusiasm.

“I'm Brianna,” she said. “Wanna watch me play ball?”

He laughed. “I'd love to.”

“Cool.” Assured of his attention, she turned and started back to the dugout with her teammates. Mike started a little as he straightened up and realized that her gait was a off just a bit. Her left leg had a bend higher than it should have and he realized that it must have been amputated and replaced with a prosthetic.

He tried to remember if he'd seen her run at all, but figured it couldn't impede her that much or she wouldn't be allowed to play, right? He also noted that her baseball cap was embroidered with the name “Skippy” and had to swipe at his nose and sniffle to hide the laugh.

Mike stopped in the doorway to the dugout, just behind the last row of girls once again crowded around a kneeling Harvey, and listened as he gave them their new assignments for the next scrimmage game. It wasn't until he sent them out though, that Mike realized he'd switched almost everyone out from the positions they'd played last time.

When Mike crossed over to join Harvey inside the dugout, the other man said, “They get more practice this way and they want to experiment and see which positions they like best and what they're good at.” He added with a shrug, “I figure why not let them? This isn't exactly the majors and the whole point is to have fun anyway, right?”

Mike looked at him with a crooked smile, “Okay now I _know_ you've been replaced by a pod person. The evidence is just stacking up against you.”

Harvey shot him a glare from where he was leaning on the top of the divider that separated the dugout from the field. “What makes you say that?”

“A Harvey Specter that doesn't care about winning?” Mike said, canting his head and smirking.

“Who said I don't care about winning? We're number one in the league right now, I'll have you know. Just because we don't have a locked in roster doesn't mean these girls don't practice their butts off. And besides,” he said, pointing a finger at Mike, “having them play different spots makes them more versatile. I don't have to worry that my star pitcher is sick and my backup couldn't make it because she's at her dad's house for the weekend. I always have someone who can play every position and at this age they don't really settle in on one position they play really well anyway.” He was about to say something else when his attention shifted more fully to the field and then he was shouting loudly enough for Mike to raise his hands to his ears and lean back a little.

“RUN, BRIANNA, RUN! _GO! GO! GO!_ ”

All of the other girls were cheering too, fielders as well as the dugout crew, as Brianna raced from one bag to the next, her stuttered gait not making an appreciable difference in her speed from what Mike could see. Even the girls trying to get the ball back to tag her out cheered before and after their throw was complete.

Brianna got to second just before the ball from deep left field. She went down on two hands and one knee, but her left leg was stretched out behind her and her toe was indeed on the bag. Harvey shouted, “SAFE!” and the field and stands both erupted in even louder cheers for a few seconds while she pushed to her feet with the help of the second baseman.

She looked back at the dugout and grinned, brushing loose hair from her face. “Did you see me, Mike?” she shouted.

“I sure did,” he yelled back, clapping. “Good job, Brianna!”

Mike looked back over to see Harvey again giving him that speculative stare.

“What?” he asked.

Harvey just resumed his perch on the dugout wall and said, “Why else do you think I've been replaced by a pod person?”

Mike frowned and Harvey said, “You said the evidence was stacking up, which implies that you have more than your incorrect assumption I don't care about winning. So let's hear it.”

“What do you mean? You've been skipping work to come coach a girls' Little League team—”

“We're not Little League. They charge too much in registration fees. This is just an inner-city league for at risk and low income children.”

“Fine, whatever. The point is, you hate charity work. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say this was a community service sentence you were working off, but I don't believe you'd even get that much of a slap on the wrist and I _know_ I would have heard about you being arrested.”

“One, you're awfully confident in your abilities to keep track of my life outside of work for a guy who took a month to figure out what I was doing; two, I'm not skipping work, Jessica knows I'm here and fully approves of this activity; and three, and I don't hate charity work. What gave you that idea?”

“Exhibit A: 'I don't care about anything that doesn't have to do with me', and, exhibit B: every time Jessica assigns you to do a pro bono case, it ends up on _my_ desk before you've even read the names of the parties involved.”

“And in response to your evidence I say: Who says that this doesn't have something to do with me? And this is not pro bono work. Besides, you need the practice and representing people who won't cost the firm millions of dollars makes all of the partners feel better about you trying cases until you stop losing in _housing court_ ,” Harvey said dryly, eyebrows arched.

Mike had to clench his jaw and then he leaned in to hiss, “That was _once_ —”

“Once is all it takes,” Harvey said, straightening, then yelled out to the field, “Good job, girls! Marguerita's the last batter, then we switch up!” He got waves and nods of acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to Mike. “I'm sorry, you were saying?”

Mike let the annoyance at the repeated poke at his courtroom record go and said, “Harvey, you expect me to believe that you're being _paid_ to coach a team on an inner-city girls' softball league? Really? Let's see, if they sell candy bars for a dollar each and get half of that back—admittedly a high ratio, but one I think you could negotiate—and each practice is an hour, each game... what? Average an hour and a half long? Three practices a week, nine games in the season—not including championships—that works out to...” He scrunched up his face.

“Not being paid is not the same as pro bono,” Harvey said. “Choke upon the bat, Marguerita!”

“That's good, because who the he—”

Harvey glared before Mike could finish the word, though, really, like Mike was actually going to swear in front of eight-year-olds?

“ _Heck_ ,” Mike said, though he was also smirking just a little, “are these girls going to sell forty-five thousand candy bars to? And that's just to cover the cost of their coach, let alone their equipment, field rentals, uniforms, water bottles with team logos on them...” Mike frowned and picked up the bottle Harvey had been using, clear plastic with a bright pink lid and a pink and white logo on the side that had a winking, grinning unicorn at bat in a uniform, complete with a helmet that had a hole for its horn, and glittery sparkles and stars around it.

“Did Jessica approve this design?” he asked, turning the logo toward Harvey. “I'm assuming Pearson Hardman is your corporate sponsor.”

“There you go assuming again. You haven't had a good record with that lately, you might not want to keep doing that. Good inning, let's switch it up!”

As the infielders came back they all passed Harvey and got a high five and some personalized praise. The batting team found their gloves and poured out onto the field, taking up their positions.

“And no, we don't have a corporate sponsor. We are funded entirely by community donations and private sponsors. And we voted as a team and this was the winning design.” He plucked the bottle from Mike's hands, setting it down on his other side.

“Coach Harvey! My shoelace is undone!”

Harvey turned and bent to retie the knot, asking the girl about how her dog was doing.

“Better. Momma has been giving him the medicine from the vet every day and now Zipper gets up and licks my face again!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Thank you for taking him to the doctor.”

“You're very welcome, Anna,” he said sincerely. “Now go pick your bat and start warming up. You're second in line.”

“Okay!” She scooted off, weaving through the other girls who were finding their water bottles and stowing their gloves in the cubbies along the side wall.

Mike looked around, noting that this was, in fact, a nicer ball field than he'd ever played on as a kid, and not just because it was newly renovated. Considering where they were, that was impressive.

He had a sneaking suspicion that their “private sponsors” were actually singular and that the person in question was also known as the best closer in the city in legal and business circles. After all, the boys on the other fields had matching caps, but none of them had their names embroidered on them and they didn't have water bottles with team logos either.

“'We'?” Mike could barely contain the grin now.

“They,” Harvey conceded. “I would have preferred the purple one, but it didn't have enough sparkles apparently.”

Mike had to bite his tongue and turn to look at the field lest he burst out laughing at the idea that his boss had lost to a handful of eight-year-old girls.

“Good job, Tshaida!” Harvey yelled suddenly, clapping. “Throw it in!”

Mike watched a small black girl with long cornrow braids in center field wind up and then rocket the ball into her teammate at first. It made it just before the runner who huffed in annoyance before trudging back to the dugout.

“Nice throw, Tshaida! Good catch, Britt!” He lowered his voice so that only Mike could hear him say, “If biting your tongue doesn't work, remember that making the girls cry isn't the sign of a good assistant coach and laughing right after one of them strikes out is almost certainly going to make them cry.” He ignored Mike's whiplash-inducing-turn to stare at him, then went to greet Marley, the girl who'd been caught out, at the gate.

He squatted down, said a few quiet words that elicited a genuine smile and a faint blush of praise, then tugged down on her ballcap. She giggled as she pushed it back up, threw her arms around his neck for a quick hug, then bounced back to her spot on the bench to chat with her friends and cheer on the next batter.

Harvey straightened and kept watching the field for a moment, calling out a word of encouragement or correction here and there. He returned and took a swig from his sparkly pink water bottle without a hint of shame in his movements and waited.

“Assistant coach?” Mike finally managed. “What the—”

Again a warning glare, although this time it was probably warranted.

“Do you have something against baseball, or in this case, softball? In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that your continued employment does depend on your answer.”

Mike scowled. “No, I don't have anything against baseball _or_ softball, it's just—”

“Good. Practices are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays from four to five. You can ride with me so you don't have to leave an hour early to bike over here. Keep clothes at the office, but don't change there. I stop by my place on the way to change—as you, of course, know,” he added with a pointed stare, “—you can do so there, too. Practices are casual, as you can see, games are in uniform—even for coaches. I'll have a team t-shirt for you this Saturday and a full uniform by next. Don't be late and remind me to have Donna get you a second team debit card so you can pick up the post-game treats.” He pointed a finger at Mike. “Only to be used for team expenses, give Donna your receipts. Understood?”

Mike gaped for a moment.

“Mike?” Harvey drawled with a smirk.

Mike snapped his mouth shut, then said, “Why...?”

Harvey looked back at the field. “Because it occurs to me that being a mentor and helping you smooth out your _many_ personal flaws might require some extracurricular training.” He grinned. “It was this or sign you up for obedience classes.” His expression turned mock-serious. “Unless you'd rather wear a collar and practice sitting on command with all the other puppies?”

Mike's lip curled and Harvey laughed and slapped him on the back. “I thought so. Now pay attention because I'm putting you on third base and it's not as easy as it looks.”

Mike listened, watching as Harvey pointed out each girl on the team and talked about her strengths and weaknesses, and wondered again at the many hidden depths of his seemingly very superficial boss.

o.o

“How did you even get into this?” Mike asked as they carried the bags back to the curb where the taxi Harvey had called was waiting. Mike now understood why Harvey didn't have Ray drive him, though: Harvey was covered in dirt and sweat and some Gatorade from where one of the girls had accidentally spilled on him. He certainly didn't want to mess up Ray's nice seats and Ray appreciated that, Mike was sure.

“This is my second year actually. Normally I would just make a monetary donation, maybe come watch a few games, but last year I found out they had too many girls and not enough coaches.” He shrugged. “So I volunteered. I was late enough that the team tryouts had already happened and I got the leftovers: the girls no one wanted. That was the other teams' first mistake. The second was assuming that just because I was wearing a suit worth more than most of those coaches made in a year, I was afraid to get dirty.”

Mike grinned. “You proved them wrong?”

“We kicked their _asses_.”

“That's not a nice word, Coach Harvey!” Marguerita said as she ran past with her little sister in tow.

Mike laughed and then laughed harder when he saw the look of chagrin and faint blush on Harvey's cheeks.

“Sorry!” Harvey called and got a wave in response.

“Oh man,” Mike said.

“You won't finish that thought if you know what's good for you.”

Mike bit his tongue, but it was a close thing.

“So... why an inner-city league in the South Bronx anyway?”

Harvey's expression smoothed, something Mike recognized as him pulling back. He regretted asking for a moment and started to say, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Harvey looked at him and smirked. “Of course I don't.” But a moment later he said, “I didn't always have the life I do now. I grew up around here.”

Mike's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Harvey snorted. “What, you thought I grew up on Central Park West? Nah. I grew up in an apartment building two blocks from here,” he said with a nod to indicate the direction. “I spent almost every Saturday morning and all of summer on these diamonds practicing my pitching.”

“So when you made it big you decided to give back to your old neighborhood.” Mike huffed. “You big softie.”

Harvey bent a hard glare on him, but Mike was not to be deterred in his grin.

Harvey gave up after a moment and said, with a suspiciously nostalgic voice, “Maybe I just think it's wrong for kids to grow up almost in the shadow of Yankee Stadium but never have a chance to actually play there.”

Mike regarded his boss silently for a few more steps. “You wanted to play there,” he said.

Harvey laughed. “I was a red-blooded American boy in New York City. Of course I wanted to play there. Didn't you?”

Mike conceded the point with a nod. “So why didn't you?”

Harvey stopped and waited for the cabbie to open the trunk for them, then deposited his bag inside. Mike did the same and went to the driver's side back seat and climbed in.

“Because I decided I wanted to be a lawyer.”

Mike gave him a searching look but Harvey just returned it with an even stare, raising his eyebrows when it carried on a bit long.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Mike looked out the window and watched the city go by, seeing a couple of boys from the park walking back home after practice, bats and gloves in hand.

If he hadn't known that Harvey was already way over his emotional sharing quota for the day, Mike would be offended by the lie, because the one thing he knew about Harvey Specter—besides the fact that he cared a hell of a lot about other people, his claims to the contrary notwithstanding—was that when he wanted something, almost nothing could stop him.

But Mike had unearthed enough of Harvey's secrets for one day. He could let his boss keep this one.

For now.

There was something else though that he was willing to press—until it hurt if necessary. “So why all the secrecy?”

Harvey gave Mike a _look_. “Are you kidding?”

“You're afraid Louis is going to mock your pink unicorn drinking bottle? Or steal it?”

Harvey laughed at that, but said, “No, I'm afraid the other partners are going to want to make this part of the firm's publicity campaign. These girls don't need that, their parents don't want it, and I don't like it. I'm not doing this for the good PR it can get me.”

Mike nodded. “Fair enough. So... why pull me in on it?”

“I already explained that. Your many personal flaws, remember?” He grinned.

Mike considered for a second. “And you know that if I'm in on the secret as well, I won't want it to get out.”

“That too,” Harvey said with a shrug. “But I think you're more concerned about the other associates finding out you wear a pink baseball cap on the weekend than the partners exploiting your private life for the company.”

“Pink?” Mike said, eyebrows rising.

“Pink,” Harvey confirmed. “Just like the girls. With a silvery, sparkly unicorn.”

Mike resumed looking out the window and sighed, wondering, not for the first time, how his life had come to be subject to the whims of one Harvey Specter, oddly honorable human being and devious son of a bitch.


	3. A League of Their Own

**EPILOGUE**

“Hey, batta, batta, batta! _Swing,_ batta, batta, batta!”

“Ignore them, Aerys!” Harvey called. “They just know how good you are and are trying to psych you out! Concentrate on the ball! You can do it!”

Mike leaned down toward Brianna and said, “When you see her hit the ball you start running, okay, Skippy?”

Brianna nodded. “Got it.” She bent forward on her right leg, her face a scowl of determination.

Mike stood up straighter, shrugging to sit his uniform shirt more comfortably on his shoulders and pointedly ignoring the teenage boys in the opposing team's stands that weren't bothering to lower their voices as they mocked him and Harvey for their pink pin-stripes and glittery pink “UNICORNS” emblazoned on the front of their shirts. He tugged down on his ballcap, the “Rookie” across the back shining in the spring sunlight.

The crowd hushed as the pitch was thrown and then with a _crack!_ of genuine leather on ash the ball was flying through the air.

“Go!” Mike shouted and Brianna took off for home plate like she was being chased by the very hounds of Hell.

Mike watched her cross the plate and cheered, then turned and beckoned the next girl on from second base. “Run! Run! Run!”

Caroline screamed like a banshee as she pumped her legs, a cloud of dust rising in her wake as she blazed across the dirt. She was running so fast that she almost toppled backward when she tried to stop and Mike had to make a quick dip to catch her and keep her from hitting her head. The ball landed in the third baseman's glove a full second later.

Mike laughed and straightened her up, patting her on the back as she trembled and bounced a little from the excitement of making it to third base. “You okay?'

She nodded, grinning widely, chocolate skin shining with sweat.

“You ready to run for home base?” he asked, pointing out her destination.

She nodded again, still grinning.

“Good girl.”

Mike glanced up to see Harvey high-fiving Brianna as she came back into the dugout, her teammates meeting her to congratulate her on her run.

The older man looked over and saw Mike looking and gave him a thumbs up and a triumphant smirk.

Mike returned it and then shifted his gaze to the pitcher who was pulling her arm back for the delivery.

“Okay, get ready, Caroline... And... _Go!_ ”

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a review if you enjoyed it, please!
> 
>  **PROMPT:** So in an interview recently, Gabriel mentioned he'd like to see the writers explore what Harvey does when he isn't at work, and he'd like to see him involved in a charity, a charity that has something to do with kids.
> 
> So why don't we give Gabriel what he wants?
> 
> Harvey starts leaving work early some days, and even though Mike asks Donna, she remains mum on the subject. Won't budge on where he goes every day, no matter how much he begs. So Mike decides to find out for himself, and tails Harvey one afternoon. When Harvey's car finally stops, it's at a park with t-ball fields, a group of kids waiting near each backstop. He steps out of the car and pulls some bags out of the trunk, and just when Mike expects him to stop in front of the group of boys close to them, Harvey surprises him by passing them by and walking right up to the group of girls waiting on the far field.
> 
> He's even more surprised when they call Harvey Coach.
> 
> Mike is fascinated, so he stays and watches the practice, and when the practice lets out, goes to leave when Harvey calls out his name. Mike apparently sucks at tailing, because Harvey knew he was following him when Mike got into a cab back at the office.
> 
> And Mike thinks Harvey's going to punish him for inserting himself into Harvey's personal life, for not letting it go when Donna told him to, but no.
> 
> Harvey needs an assistant coach.


End file.
